A Substitute For Honesty
by byebyebeaute
Summary: Confrontation when everything was new.


**Summary:** Most likely a one-shot - a much needed confrontation between Syd and her demons (Vaughn as well) at the end of season two.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine...  
**Set:** A Second Double (2x21), the night of the mission in Berlin

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**A Substitute for Honesty**

_Emma used to say that she had spent so much of her life pretending to be other people that she was afraid she might disappear. And I have been sitting here trying to remember all her aliases. You're right. It's hard to keep track. _– Agent Lennox, 2x14 Double Agent

Madrid  
New Delhi  
Ibiza  
Buenos Aires  
Tokyo  
London  
Stockholm  
Las Vegas

Gain an hour  
Lose five hours  
GMT  
CST

Spanish  
French  
Japanese  
Urdu  
Russian

She had been so many places she forgot where she came from; spoken so many languages that she forgot her own tongue.

She didn't realize until she felt his hands in her hair that she had forgotten to remove her wig from her latest mission. She lowers her head in shame, starring down at the damp and matted brown and purple strands, letting them fall in front of her face in a lame attempt to hide from him – to hide from the world. She's suddenly aware of her surroundings, her senses becoming more and more acute as he gently removes bobby pins from her hair – one by one. The feeling is soothing and she silently counts, taking some solace in the even strokes of his hand as he frees her from the final restraints. She couldn't even feel the pull of the wig until he made it known.

They are still in Berlin, an affordable, sensible room in one of the nicer hotels. CIA all the way. She also is aware of how late it is, she's still on Pacific time. She's California Dreamin'

He doesn't want to admit how quickly this all came crashing down.

She seemed unstoppable in the club tonight, sexy grin, strong stance, a walk that could kill. The playful wig has been removed and he's gently rubbing his hands on her scalp, trying to ease her tension. Although he knows that he's buying time, looking for the right words to say – hoping to help her gather her shattered pieces. Carefully glue her back together.

A gentle tug. Lace in, lace out. Her back moves in a silent rhythm as her breathing steadies.

Slowly peeling off her corset, he wonders how she got into it alone. Even though he's undressing her – something he has been fantasizing about since she sauntered down the stairs, brandishing a whip and crunching his ice – there is nothing sexual about his movements. Yes, his body responds to her; he can't help that. But right now he wants nothing more than to give back what's been taken from her.

She starring off into space, the moment the last strand of leather has been pulled from her top, she lets out a sigh. She's come undone. He doesn't say a word; he simply lifts her as if she were a small child. She clings to him as if he's a life-raft in troubled waters. Her bath has been drawn, just as she likes it. The scent of lavender surrounds them, and as he leans to place her into the elegant tub, she looks at him desperately.

He has always respected her space in this sense. Sitting on the side, watching her unwind. He knew this was a sacred ritual for her, when she cleaned off the grime, the blood, the sweat – the regret and guilt. It was something she could only do alone. Tonight isn't like other nights.

He simply steps into the tub with her; he's silently grateful that he's only wearing boxers, having undressed quickly before he noticed that she was simply staring off into space after removing her dark make-up. Lying down, she surprises him with sudden movement and turns over in his arms, burying her face into his chest.

'I feel like I've failed you.' She gasps and begins to sob. For the first time he isn't sure what she's thinking, and it scares him more than anything. He simply shushes her quietly, humming into her ear foreign songs from his distant childhood. She quiets and he dries her off, getting her dressed and taking them both into the double bed. He leaves the words for tomorrow, opting to hold her as close as possible – letting himself reassure her physically that he is there for her.

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Luckily, she talks in her sleep. If it wasn't for that, he wouldn't have been waiting for her to leave.

She is usually such a light sleeper – but something about his arms wrapped around her makes her feel safer than she ever should. She allowed herself the luxury of falling into his strong embrace – ignoring what she knew she had to do. This last weakness she has allowed herself will prove to be her end. She wakes as if clockwork at three AM, prepared to collect her travel-bag and simply disappear. Shifting from alias to alias – looking for anything that's real – or at least distracting. Something to take her mind off of the fact that she had failed in every sense of the word…she had lost herself in this constant game of espionage. She had put her friends in danger – entertained the devil for too long and lost her claim to a safe, normal and happy life.

She thinks back to Will, confused and alone in a small cramped cell – a cell that her mother once occupied. She knows he never deserved any of this, and she wonders if she is a force of nature – only able to destroy everything in her path. Having acquired the information needed to determine whether or not Will was doubled – she is going to go to the server farm alone. The 'how' of this solo, rogue mission hasn't been sorted out in her head. It doesn't matter, none of it matters. This was her final act of kindness – of love for her friend. She had decided, on the way back from the club – to get the evidence that would either clear or condemn her friend – and disappear. There is only so much a human heart can take – hers was so fragmented that she thought the only thing she could do was to leave, to protect the ones she loved. She would never again ask another friend, another love one – to shoulder the burden that was uniquely hers.

She noiselessly extracts herself from his warm, safe embrace. Thinking about the man laying in the bed, she bites her lip – forcing the emotions deep into the recesses of her mind. She saves him for another time, when she is far away from the situation. She will take his memory out, recall the greens of his eyes, the feel of his hair in her hands, the sound of his sigh, the touch of his hand. She will mourn him properly and rejoice in a bittersweet victory of having given him a chance at a real life, at safety and security that she could not provide him.

She has resigned herself to a half-life of might-have-beens and memories.

Tiptoeing away from the bedside, she moves towards the end of the room where her suitcase has been stored and packed. Feeling around in the dark, she stands still for a moment waiting for her vision to adjust to the dark hues of the room. Once she's regained sight she walks with more confidence to the place where she stored her belongings – her get away. Feeling around, a sudden panic grips her – chocking her throat and depriving her of air.

'Looking for something?' She would say his voice was triumphant – defiant almost, if it hadn't been tinted with the sweetest threads of sadness. She curses herself for being so lost in thought – realizing now that getting out of bed was too easy. He must have been waiting for this, he must have somehow known.

'How did you…'

'Sleep talker.' He simply states and rises from the bed, making his way towards her slowly. And the room seems to become so much smaller than it once was – unwilling or unable to handle the shrinking space – she makes a bolt for the door, hoping to catch him off-guard in his barely awoken state.

Someone has been training.

She feels him push the door closed with a fierceness she has never seen from him before. Swallowing a shocked sigh, she looks at him with wide eyes. The lock slides into place with a deafening click and his eyes flash darkly. Moving back, he grabs her wrist almost painfully.

'Where are you running to?' He says in dark tones, worry lines gracing his forehead once more. Searching for an answer – and a possible point of exit, she looks around the room frantically, trying to escape his embrace. She knows she isn't acting rationally – but who needs rational thought? The only thing she can think of is to ditch and run. When you're in over your head – all you want is to get out. Assessing the room, she realizes he's locked all the doors, closed all the curtains, and removed anything that would aide her escape. She wonders why she was always the first to fall asleep and begins to doubt the security he's always provided her.

_Why'd you let your guard down Sydney?_ She chides herself in her mind.

'The answers you're looking for aren't behind that door!' He yells, seemingly unmoved by the late hour or the other guests occupying the rooms next door. Apparently, her silence wasn't pleasing to him. She looks down – she has nothing to say to this. He is the voice of reason, and a reality check is the last thing Sydney Bristow wants.

She begins to struggle against him, fighting like a caged animal. Surprised by her reaction, he grabs her and roughly throws her against the wall, pinning her hands against the walls and using his weight against her to hold her into place.

'I know why you're running – running isn't going to fix any of this. You may change your name, your appearance, but that doesn't mean that your demons won't find you again. Unless you stay and face this – you will always be running and you will never find one moment of peace.' He pants into her ear, menacingly close. She is still, her breathing is ragged and she looks off towards a wall.

'I can't save you – I can't help you unless you let me.' He whispers gently, loosening his grip, he kisses her arms where he has left angry red marks. 'Oh Syd, why won't you let me in.' He says mournfully, leaning down to capture her lips in a kiss. Refusing to respond, he pulls back slowly and looks at her, his green eyes bleeding sorrow.

'Oh...' Trailing off, he doesn't fight her, letting her go. He looks like he's just realized something, something the he didn't want to accept. He moves back to the bed they shared and sits down, placing his head in his hands.

'I can't make you stay – I'd never try to tie you down. Your suitcase is in the closet...' He says without looking up – this is a fight he can't win. She looks at him, eyes welling with tears and turns towards the closet, slowly opening it and removing the small black case.

_Oh, how I wish I could make you understand._

'Just please, before you go – you have to know. I'll always love you, and if you ever need anything…you have my number. Please Syd…' His voice slightly breaking on her name.

She wishes he would have given her anger, yelled at her for giving up – for giving in. She wanted him to hurt her, to give her a reason to leave. She can hear him quietly break down and she feels the last thread of her control slipping from her hand.

She expected everything except his kindness.

Never let it be said that Michael Vaughn is an unintelligent man. He's some how turned the tables on her – how can she be the caring martyr if she's causing him so much pain – why did he have to tell her he loved her? He's standing, holding the closet door, using it for support – looking at her with piercing eyes. Does she love him?

_How dare he._

'If you think that you're going to guilt me into staying – you're wrong. I don't need any of your protection or coddling." She hisses. Her eyes grow dark, breaking the connection she roughly grabs the suitcase, pushing him out of the way. His eyes flash with light – although her actions are, painful, part of him is glad to see her fight back, fight him, fight anything. This means she hasn't given up yet, her spirit is still intact – he can force her to vent.

'I used to think you were the strongest person I'd ever met. Now I realized you're just a coward. If anyone in your life meant anything to you, you'd stay and face the situation. I overestimated you.' This stops her dead in her tracks. The man standing in front of her, hands clenched at his side, is unrecognizable. He turns to walk away, and a voice in the back of her mind is screaming at her to stop him, that he doesn't mean his hurtful words, that he is provoking her. And in that moment, she's never felt more ashamed.

_You know this, but my parents were absent when I was growing up. I never had anyone to disappoint. That's different now. I'm sorry._

It only takes a half a second. The shame quickly morphs into anger, fury, violent passion. She ignores her rational side. How can he be so arrogant, so pig-headed and unfeeling? Her attack is sloppy, her angry making her movements blunt and messy. He easily catches her fist, one, after another; merely holding off the harder punches.

'I hate you – I hate you so much!' She yells at him and he grabs her, ignoring her objections, using his strength to keep her in his embrace.

'Let me go – please. Let me go Vaughn!' She yells into his chest, clawing at him in a desperate attempt to flee. He simply shushes her, holding her tighter to him.

'I'm not letting you go.' He says quietly. 'I'm not giving up on you.'

The tears come easily now and everything she's boxed and bottled up come slipping out in a torrent of tears. The strength of her emotions overwhelm her but somehow he's got her – meeting her at the bottom, shielding her.

Maybe she doesn't have a true grasp on her situation. For the first time in years she thinks that perhaps she doesn't have to go through this alone.

'I'm afraid that I've lost myself.' She says, the voice of a scared child. From her vantage point, her head buried in his chest – shielded from the world by his arms – she can't see the look on his face. Eyes wide, he looks at the wall trying to sort through the emotions, the sadness, the fear, the dread. He's seen this coming for some time.

'I am so guilty.' She says, avoiding his gaze. 'I feel so weighted down. There's so much shame, so many lies.'

'It wasn't your fault – none of this is your fault.' He knows what she's thinking of before she can fully explain. 'You aren't your mother. You can't carry her burden forever.'

'What about the guilt that is my own?' She says quietly. There is so much between them right now. She chooses to kiss him at this point, physical closeness as a substitute for honesty. There's been a tension between them ever since the inquiry – walls, defenses. She's been isolated from everyone from quite some time; she sees this breakdown – the situation with Will, and her mother's betrayal as being some oversight of her own.

As much as he wants to tell her that she is wrong, he knows the last thing that she wants is for him to lie to her. He feels guilt, concern – he's also amazed that she has kept it together for so long.

'This isn't you – let me help you. Let me show you how wrong you are.' He pushes her chin up.

The ugly truth neither of them wants to acknowledge is that tonight isn't the night to sort all the issues out. That the only option that they really have is to put this on a back-burner and deal with the situation at hand – taking the intel gathered and verifying it, to clear or condemn Will. Time has never been on their side.

'It's late.' She whispers quietly. He nods, giving her the first break of the night. Tonight, nothing will be changed – her mind won't be changed. But he has bought them time – she will stay with him another day on the promise that soon they will hash these things out.

'Soon.' He says as removes the suitcase and lifts her, carrying her to the bed and climbing in, holding her.

'Promise me, tomorrow – we won't pretend like this never happened.' He says into her ear. She doesn't have an answer for him – she doesn't want to tell another lie. Her only response is to hold him tighter and shut her eyes against the coming dawn. A try to get some sleep, to escape this feeling.

He stays up the rest of the night, making sure she won't disappear. He smiles as her breathing evens out – hoping she's found some peace. Toying with her hair, he gives her a kiss on the top of her head. It's six – he quietly gets out of bed, some how sure that she won't leave. Putting on running clothes he picks up a room key, looks back at her sleeping form.

'Santa Barbra.' He says out-loud, even though he knows that she cannot hear him. He promises himself that after England, after this problem with Will is sorted out, they will take a vacation – no phones, no obligations, no plans. Exiting the hotel, he decides that the trip will be filled with empty time, time to fix the problems between them and to heal. Breaking into a run, he feels lighter.

fin  
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**A/N**: Please, let me know what you think!

This is most likely a one-shot, I really don't have anywhere else I'd like to take it...

Much thanks to Tess - who has somehow become my beta, my co-founding buddy and all-mighty. Thanks for being such an awesome friend - you rock!

This line isn't mine:  
_You know this, but my parents were absent when I was growing up. I never had anyone to disappoint. That's different now. I'm sorry._  
That's a call-back from 2x20 - Countdown. And know you know!


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